


Ratha Skyhewer

by Memory25



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: And fudges the process, Gen, Maiar Mayhem, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, When Eru makes Middle Earth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 17:03:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10881156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memory25/pseuds/Memory25
Summary: "Who is she? That, my dear hobbit, is a question with many answers," Gandalf chortled, pipe in hand and eyes twinkling merrily, "Perhaps some, I will never know." OP OC-insert. Drabbles.





	1. Chapter 1

When death finally came to claim her, she looked it in the eye. She stared at its face, at the visage it showed her, and welcomed it.

Did she want it? Had she anticipated it? Did she wish for it?

No, no, and no.

But when the time came, she did not turn away, and thus it was that she glimpsed the in between of life and death, and when death bore her away, her eyes did not close.

It is why, when her Turning came, she was able to make a better choice. A simple choice, the time of her rebirth, but the ramifications of it would shake through the world.

Through Middle-Earth.

When she finally deigned to close her eyes, Ratha found herself born in a world of magic and legends.

In the time when the Valar walked the lands.

xXXx

When Ratha was first sang into existence by Eru, she was a Maiar. A Maiar the melody of which was probably the first inklings of Man. When Eru first sang the Song, he did not sing clear forms, they were elementals and ideas—they existed indistinctly. Except Ratha already had a form before her reintroduction, and thus Eru’s song merely wove around the core of her, a gentle harmony.

Similarly, when Melkor sang his Discord, it crashed against the Song in what would create the first Tides, but it could not reach deep enough to unmake or twist anything.

When Ratha took her first breath, she heard the song and unlike the rest of the Maiar who wept in joy, she whistled.

(Actually, she wolf-whistled, but since it did not yet exist, it was just a whistle. The First Whistle, actually, with which her kin communicated.)

It made Namo laugh, while the lewd undertone of it made Melkor snigger in triumph. And thereafter Ratha served the both of them, for she was the first Maiar to make solemn Namo laugh, while Melkor saw her as proof of the triumph of his Discord.

She grew strong and bold and wild. She learnt the joy of the hunt, despite not belonging to Orome. She leaped and ran through the lands, bounding over mountains and forests, whooping and yelling and playing with the Eagles of Manwe. Melkor felt slight fondness for her—this sign of his own Creation—while Namo smiled more in his Halls.

When the Maiar were called by the Valar to descend to Arda, she was the first. She leaped through the invisible webs of Vaire and more fell than descended, the impact with which she crashed into the land strong enough to send tremors throughout.

(Melkor giggled for the first time when he saw that, but seriously, he’d long since given up any expectation of grace from Ratha. Namo sighed and shook his head, but could not hide his amusement. Unfortunately, hope sprang eternal for him.)

When the other Maiar descended, they found Ratha frolicking in a field. _Frolicking._ Aiwendil, who was rather taken with Ratha, promptly followed her actions, whilst Curunir sneered in contempt. A bunch of Fire Maiar gathered around her to dance, until the field was ablaze and Namo started banging his head against his doors full of grass.

Melkor rather thought it was charming, in a strange sort of way. And also rearranged the Song so that plants did not flood Namo’s precious Halls. He wasn’t sure how you were supposed to usher them to the afterlife, since both sides already had grass anyway (why in Eru’s name was the Creator himself so obsessed with it nobody knew, but he’d left patches of it _everywhere)_.

But it was interesting. Ratha made many things interesting.

(The First Dead Plants were taken and planted along the Halls, separately from their already present brethren, to forever commemorate the descending of the Maiar…and to remind Ratha not to incite the Fire Spirits.

Not that she remembered often.)

And thus the Middle-Earth was first populated…with fire.

(Ratha laughs, because fire did not come so early into her old Story, but where’s the fun in that? Blowing through things was not nearly as fun as blowing _up_ things.)

And then they started making Children. (Ratha wolf-whistled again when they announced the fact, which made Vaire blush. To be fair, she had accidentally created lewdness and all it entailed, so if she couldn’t make someone blush she wouldn’t deserve her name.)

xXXx

To be honest, Ratha did not like the Firstborn. They were fair of form and strong and smart and a lot of other good things in various degrees of intensity, but most of all they were _boring._ She suspected Eru had sang solemnity into their creation, which was no fun at _all_.

(When she told him that, he chirped tangles into the flow of her hair. Eru was a rather vindictive bastard sometimes, and everyone wondered where Melkor got it from...)

Whilst plenty of the Valar were handpicking through the Firstborn, cooing like crazy people and generally causing the raucous expected of a baby shower, Ratha decided to create disparity in the lands. Orome had his forests and Manwe had his vast, lush plains, but Ratha felt it was rather too much like holding an entire chain of slightly differing links, all of which fitted seamlessly into one another and merrily twinkled in harmony with the whole. There was no _uniqueness_ in it, and she was going to be bored to tears if she continued on like this.

So she pleaded with Melkor, who was known for indulging her ideas just for the strangeness of them. She asked him to make a volcano, though it was not yet named one. She asked for rocky outcroppings and jagged edges and sudden, steep drops. And the centre, she insisted, was to be fire, because there were lush forests and burbling brooks for every element but fire, and she wanted them to have somewhere of their own.

When Melkor asked her what she would name the first volcano, she naturally replied, “Mount _Dooooom.”_ With the appropriate dramatic voice, of course.

He was intrigued by it, for the general agreement was that nobody wanted to _purposefully_ create something inhabitable or dangerous to the Children. Ratha had always been special, but for her to be utterly different from the rest of them was rather…

In any case, he named the mountain as per her request, even telling everyone the proper inflection by which to say it, and thus Mount DOOOOOM was formed. Olorin had quite a bit of fun getting the pronunciation right, twisting his new-formed tongue around the words and delighting in the thrill the reverberation gave him. It was also when he discovered humming, which he promptly infected many of the Valars’ new creations with.

(Sadly, the elves were rather opposed to humming, seeing it as not truly music in the way Eru had created. Why hum when one could sing?

Why indeed? Ratha made all their voices fly back at themselves, running through and at their faces so they could not sing. Olorin was appreciative of her efforts, but stopped her after one of them tried to sing and swallowed a fly instead. She rather wished someone had made helium here.)


	2. Chapter 2

Eru determined that time would pass as per the Sun and Moon. One would rise and the other would set and Ratha had already heard all of this before so she skipped that meeting.

(They’re not the Sun and Moon, Ratha, they’re Telperion and Laurelin. And they’re _trees._

_Whatever.)_

There were more pressing concerns.

Like Mt. Dooooom not doing its job and, y’know, _erupting._

She wondered what was wrong with her prototype volcano. She fussed over it like an as yet uncreated mother hen. She twirled through the fissures and prodded the veins of liquid earth. She sieved through the sediments of the rock, moving them this way and that.

To no avail.

Her volcano project would not erupt.

She wailed in frustration, causing the skies to stir and shift and crack. She kicked and screamed like a toddler and the earth split. Trees fell. The First Avalanches happened. (A lot of crap was flung about.)

Curunir cursed as his Jango tower fell over. (It’s not _Jango!)_

Aiwendil tripped on his face. He whimpered, picked himself up, and promptly fell into a fissure. A friendly fire Maia took pity on him and shoved him out of it with some help from an earth one.

Alatar and Pallando, the inseparable not-actually-twin Maiar, scrambled to re-still the waters in the ocean because _Ratha was stirring it up._ And everything in it. They had _stuff_ in there!

Olorin was busy playing with his new Elvish friends. They were so _cute._ They’d reproduced! They have tiny versions of themselves! They—

(Oh shut up Olorin.)

Namo did the First Facepalm. When he did, a clap of thunder resounded and it began to rain. The First Rainfall fell onto Arda and the liquid earth that had spilled from Mt. Dooooom was cooled and nobody got hurt.

(No seriously, _nobody got hurt._

_But what about—_

_Nobody. Got. Hurt.)_

Orome grumbled. His trees weren’t straight anymore! Some had gotten bent! A couple of them had been scared so badly they’d grown extra limbs and now they weren’t nice and smooth and straight! What was he going to do with trees that had branches?

(Ratha sniffled. What was he going to do with the original ones anyway? They were all just standing there like a particularly uniform row of…things.)

Melkor descended, grumbling, because she was always _his Maia_ when she caused trouble, and so it fell to _him_ to fix things up. He did so in a particularly undramatic fashion—in that he simply appeared beside her between time intervals and nudged her with his boot.

_Oh for Eru’s sake Ratha. What are you trying to do? You’re going to have all the other Ainur angry at me and Namo again. I gave you your Firey Mountain, so now what’s wrong?_

(Being an Ainur with Maiar servants, particularly _this_ Maia, was like being a parent with unruly children who were altogether too destructive for anyone’s liking. Yes. Even Melkor’s. Someone really ought to create the definition of restraint. Yes Eru, I’m looking at you with most of my vision.)

 _I want it to explodeeeeee!_ Ratha wailed into his face, making his makeshift version of hair flutter in his face and _honestly_ why did anyone want hair again? He batted at it ineffectually, given he was not actually stopping her wailing.

 _Ratha,_ he caught her up in a ball of will and shook her so she’d quiet, _You’re disrupting everybody’s…work._ He finished hesitantly, thinking about Yavanna’s indulgence of Orome’s rows of wood. (Honestly, what _were_ they for?)

*Cough overcompensation cough*

His Maia peeked at him from between her tresses (which were getting a bit long) and made an expression he was unfamiliar with, _I…sowwy?_

He squinted, _Did you just mispronounce a Word?_ He felt the aftertaste of it, a bundle of bubbly affectation and an attempt to resemble a…newborn squirrel?

(No, she was trying to pout and act cute. Not that anybody knew what that was here.)

 _Did I?_ She stared at him, widening her vision so much he was practically standing at the maw of it.

…, Melkor gave up understanding her. Obviously his Discord had smashed too hard into the Song and Ratha had come out of it…scattered.

xXXx

 _WOOOOOT,_ Ratha rejoiced as Mt Dooooom erupted. It had taken some begging, but Aule had relented to assist in the volcano project. Yavanna had also given permission to separate the underlying plates and make them crash together. It was all very exciting, if rough, work.

Lava spewed from the top opening, splattering the dancing fire and earth Maiar, looking very much like glowing red puke. The initial emission created smoke Maiar (who wafted about looked stoned), and baby fire-and-earth Maiar that, honestly, looked like little glowing mud-golems.

Olorin was rather delighted to make the acquaintance of new Maiar, but he was still taken with his beloved _Elves,_ so he only waved cheerfully before delving into a game of tag in Orome’s no-longer-straight-treed-woods.

(Treehuggers.)

And then.

Mairon came.

_RATHA WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU DOING?! YOU COMPLETELY RUINED MY FLATLANDS!_

(By the way, Manwe had long since decided to create steep, high grounds for his new eaglets, who did not eat worms, but did like the occasional finger.)

 _Ahhhh! Party-pooper alert!_ Ratha screeched, prompting the dancers to…continue dancing. Melkor scratched his head at all these strange new Words. Those tasted…offensive. He Frowned, causing the Sun and Moon (Ahem, _Telperion and Laurelin)_ to grow branches in fright. Orome Groaned. Olorin promptly found himself flying face first into Curunir’s second Jango tower. (It’s _not Jango!)_

 _Ratha!!!!_ Mairon seethed like a seething pit of…something that seethes. (Eru made a mental note to make that something. And then He promptly planted the idea into Melkor. Like grass.)

 _Mairon!!!!!_ Ratha whined, making sure to have more points of exclamation after her exclamation. She ducked away from a whirling smoke Maia.

 _@#$% &! _Mairon gesticulated, stamping his feet on the aforementioned flatlands, creating the first Curse Words that would eventually be known as the Black Tongue…because he scared all the smoke Maiar around and they shook all their soot onto the squabbling pair, turning into just plain air Maiar and being extremely unhappy that they were no longer feeling high.

Eventually, Melkor and Aule had to haul away their troublesome, sooty children (I mean, Maiar) because they were changing the Natures of the others around them too much. The sky was turning colours, for Eru’s sake!

(Olorin thought it all looked rather pretty. He sat on a branch with Aiwendil and they shared some Smoked Mushrooms with the Firstborn.

In the distance, Curunir kicked over his uncovered foundation stone whilst Alatar and Pallando discovered the ocean had Tides as well now. And whirlpools.)

xXXx

 


	3. Chapter 3

One of the things Ratha missed about her old life was music.

Oh, don’t get her wrong, there was plenty of Elfish singing (exactly like fish singing) and more than enough whistling to go around.

(Also, humming, but Olorin didn’t give her half-credit for his ‘discovery’ so forget it.)

But there was no _epic music_ a la orchestral harmony and there were no drums yet.

Which, I mean, why has nobody tried putting skin over a surface and tapping it?

Oh right, nobody thought to skin anyone yet.

Ratha eyed the deer in Orome’s forest thoughtfully.

(They decided scooting was the better part of valour, despite being _special white harts_ and all. Orome really was going the entire league for the ‘forest king’ title. She was very tempted to ask Melkor to make Dire Wolves.

Actually, scratch that, she’d go ask him later.)

So who does one go to when one wants to whine for instruments that have yet to be invented?

Eru, duh.

He’s called the Creator for a reason. Even if Ratha thinks he’s not all that creative.

(Actually he is, imagine nobody having thought up concepts of Land and Sea and stuff. And he had to make Physics.

Okay, so he didn’t get all of it correct, but he was an artist, not a mathematician. Although he really needed to stop throwing grass at problems so they’d leave him alone.)

So she did.

Know what she got?

A _pipe._

Like, not even the _musical_ kind. The smokey one. The one she decided to hand off to Olorin because she might be nigh immortal now, but that shit will still kill you one day.

(The air Maiar gleefully took turns on the pipe, until Olorin had had enough and decided to introduce saliva to Arda and proceeded to lick it all over in the First demonstration of the reservation techniques of a 5 year old.

Just. _Ew.)_

And then Aule decided to come out and admit he’d sired an entire race of illegitimate children and ‘oh sorry Yavanna, I couldn’t resist!’.  His reaction was kind of overkill, ‘SosorryI’lljustkillthemallright _now_ ’ and Eru had had to step in and go all ‘DON’T KILL INNOCENT CHILDREN IN MY NAME YOU IDIOT I’M ADOPTING THEM SO PUT DOWN THAT HAMMER!’. And poof! He had redheaded stepchildren he grudgingly put into his Song and promptly stuffed under the mountains covered only sparsely in grass. Because that’s what you do with redheaded stepchildren when you didn’t have cupboards yet.

Admittedly, Ratha liked dwarves _(dwarrow, the plural form is **dwarrow** ) _a lot more than she liked elves, but there was something about Durin that just ticked her off. He’d been the first (only Maiar and ranks up had Firsts) and Aule (now known as Mahal, really, _really?_ ) had added something Extra into him.

Like, seriously. What’s with that beard? He could TUCK IT INTO HIS PANTS HOLY CRAP.

(He only started doing that because Ratha liked to blow it into his face and he got sick of doing the ‘flail against almighty forces’ dance and spitting out strands of unwashed-for-far-too-long hair.

ERU INVENT BATHS FOR YOURSAKE.)

But she was watching him. She was going to watch him like a watchy thing that watches. She was going to watch him like she used to watch TV. He was going to be her addictive soap opera drama with hurt/comfort and plenty of wangst.

(Again, Melkor had to rub his ears. Ratha was using Words he wasn’t sure were meant to exist. He needed to have a Talk with her. With Words. Big Words.

Supercalifragi—a _hem._ )

ANYWAY BACK TO MUSIC.

The dwarves had the right of it, they promptly decided to skin stuff and make drums. (They’re not _drums,_ they’re—

_Drums. They. Are. Drums._

…fine.)

Except they made them all the same way, so it was as monotonous as a Gregorian chant. (What’s a—shut up, Olorin.)

Which. _Ughhhharghhhh._ Ratha had to teach them acapella. Just. They had such _nice voices_ (the only thing Aule did right) and they were just **talking like this.**

(She wasn’t all that great at acapella, but they got the idea. Those were the important things. Unfortunately, she could not, for the eternal life of her, convey the idea of beatboxing.)

Then she went to Mt Dooooom and promptly threw a tantrum at the absolute lack of epic music. (It was her tantrum place, and it made more smoked—sorry, _smoke—_ Maiar. Eru had given her the responsibility of all the air in Middle-Earth in order to give her some respectability or something, but she just gave everyone flatulence.

Especially Durin. I mean _dwarves._ No, actually, just Durin.

The Elves were annoyingly immune to gas. She only managed to get the little kids, and even then it wasn’t that mortifying—they’d managed to turn it into Lore that Elves went through a period of flatulence before they grew up, it was a perfectly normal and un-embarrassing thing. What even.

To be fair they didn’t suffer puberty the same way, so she ended up dutifully going along with it. Eru thrilled that all things Turned To Him in the end. Smug bastard.)

Another day passed (actually, a couple hundred years, but _meh)_ and not a lot of stuff happened. Men hadn’t awakened yet because everyone blamed Ratha for un-baby-proofing Middle-Earth (hey, the dwarves survived, didn’t they?) and she had to go fence up her volcano (the only one in the world because Eru _sucks)_ with plenty of Natural Danger Signs.

Of course, during this period Melkor decided he was sick of all the harmony and Eru smirking at him about his Failed Discord and promptly created the Second Ship to jump ship. (The Second Melody was ridiculous because HELLO YOU REALLY WANT PIXIES ON MIDDLE-EARTH?! And the Third one mutated a lot of creatures and some of the trees got so scared they grew legs and ran around the Forest and Orome gave up on being straight. Treed. I mean. What?)

And Lucifer decided to take a bunch of humans and twist them I mean, Maiar. I mean, Melkor.

(Sorry, wrong story)

In any case, Ratha followed Melkor _duh he made her a volcano,_ but was very unhappy that her dancing friends turned into dancing fiends and she had to smack the shit out of some of them because they kept trying to shoot her.

(Shooting the breeze, see what I did there? *Coughcoughcough*)

Namo was sad. He was very, very sad. He was so sad he actually CAME OUT OF HIS HALLS OMG WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU CAN’T DO THAT and caused a Discord of his own and Eru had to croak back some lyrics NO REALLY NAMO STAHP THAT GO BACK HOME.

(In the end, Ratha went back to Namo flailing a lot and tumbling all over the place and told him he was still timesharing her with Melkor so he was less sad and went back home. Then she went to Melkor and told him to stop whining because she wasn’t _leaving him omg stop being so emo._

He tried to Twist her but she just turned into a tornado for a while and _really, Melkor, really? This is why I gave Olorin all my nice physical things.)_

In any case, the First War started up and made a great big mess of everything and Eru decided to step in because Arda was becoming really awful like when you run your hands through wet paint and he actually Spoke.

He said:

FUCK THIS I’M REDOING EVERYTHING ALL OVER AGAIN.

And everything went back to blank space.


	4. Chapter 4

In the beginning there was Eru, and Eru was alone. Eru was alone and very happy to be alone because when he tried Creation that first time (we do not speak of it) it ended in a War and he got pissed and pulled the plug.

The End.

xXXx

Okay, so Eru got lonely after a really long non-time, and he decided to go back to the drawing board.

xXXx

In the beginning there was Eru, and Eru was alone. Eru decided to Sing others and thus he created the Ainur. There was Manwë, Ulmo, Varda, Aulë, Yavanna, Námo, Mairon, Olórin , Curu _mo_ , and Ratha.

(That’s the last time I’m putting in all the proper accents)

When Ratha was first sung into existence, she was a Maiar. A Maiar the form of which was the first inklings of Man. When Eru Sang the First Song, he did not sing clear forms, they were all indistinct, intangible ideas. Except Ratha already had a form and REMEMBERED EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED WHERE IS MELKOR YOU DOUCHEBAG.

Eru decided to do the smart thing and rewind everything.

xXXx

In the beginning there was Eru, and Eru was alone. Eru decided to Sing others and so he created the Ainur. There was Manwë, Ulmo, Varda, Aulë, Yavanna, Námo, Mairon, Olórin, and Curu _mo._

(Okay, I lied, but this is the last time!)

And he couldn’t create anything else because Ratha was The First Wind and seriously, you’re all-powerful but everyone still needs air.

(Physics, thy bitch is everyone)

xXXx

In the beginning there was Eru who was really getting pissed off at this Creation thing and his non-existent throat was getting dry and so he SANG ALL THE SONGS AT ONCE and Middle-Earth promptly sprouted into existence, went through a dozen wars and disintegrated into dust.

(All without a single speck of grass on it)

All the Ainur/Valar/Maiar were extremely confused and Ratha just blew raspberries at Eru.

xXXx

In the beginning there was Eru who was getting really tired of this crap but he was also really lonely and he had a Plan that needed to GET ON WITH IT. So he sang the First Song and there was **Melkor** , Manwë, Ulmo, Varda, Aulë, Yavanna, Námo, Mairon, Olórin , Curu _mo_ , AND Ratha.

(Okay, so maybe not.)

(Tom Bombadil appeared as well _somehow,_ but he was rather out of the picture and nobody really cared about Tom.

But—

Nobody cared about Tom.

But—

 _Nobody_ cared about Tom.)

When Ratha was sung into being she didn’t care what form she was the first inklings of, she was **_seriously pissed off_** and she decided to do the First Hurricane Ratha and First Tornado and First YOU CALL THAT A STORM **_THIS_** IS A STORM BITCH!

And Eru threw his intangible hands up because everything had been blown sky high despite not having a sky yet.

xXXx

In the beginning blahblahblah, Eru Sang Ratha into being really grudgingly and squashed her under his palm before she could stir shit up and made her promise not to mess things up again.

Being that he was _Eru,_ she agreed pretty quickly because he could just toss her into the Void after Making her. Oh wait, there is no Void yet HAH—there’s one now—crap!

(She still wolf-whistled and created lewdness. To Vaire’s despair. Melkor was all happy because blahblahblah Discord FTW! Namo laughed again. He really should laugh more, he was such a sad sack. Except his laughter was thunder and scared all the Children so no.

Sorry, Namo.)

In any case, things followed the Pattern that had been set out for a while. Except instead of the Sun and Moon trees, they had Lamps first (Illuin and Ormal)! Because Eru decided not to favour Orome this time and just make something completely strange and all-too-modern so nobody could claim any influence on the design.

(Melkor said he’d inspired it anyway because it was so outlandish and DISCORD FTW)

But rewind a little bit (no, not _all the way)_ to the First Song. During the Discord, Eru decided to First Acapella (Eru, you _bastard)_ accompaniments to the First Song and then _immediately_ Sang the Second and Third ones so now Middle-Earth had _pixies._ And a lot of other weird lifeforms but _pixies._

(Riddikulus, I tell ya!

Ratha, stop bullying the pixies…)

Ratha didn’t introduce the Fire Maiar to Dancing in the Grass because she was too busy hunting down pixies and when she finally rounded all of them up she threw them in Mt. Dooooom.

(Because only the fires from whence they came from could destroy them, they were that evil.

But they didn’t come from Mt. Dooooom!

Still evil.)

The loss of one entire race of Incarnates threw Eru off (He had _plans_ for them, Erudamnit!) and he had to take a loooooong time to decide what to do.

(If you haven’t already noticed, he’s not really good at improvising.)

By the time he was done thinking, there had been Two wars and Ratha was spinning around Arda smashing a lot of Children. Because Melkor was a stubborn asshole who couldn’t give up on this new Twisting thing he’d discovered.

To be fair to Eru, he didn’t rewind time _immediately._ He tried to stick it out, he really did. But Melkor was a tricky bastard and the last straw was when he burned all the grass in Mandos.

Eru grabbed him by the neck and squeezed and squeezed until something popped and everything turned to shit because Melkor was part of the Grand Design and now that he was dead it was completely destabilized.

He still continued squeezing for a while before he rewound everything.

xXXx

Eru Sang Ratha into being and she was really, really obedient because he was kind of on the edge of psychotic break and Everyone could feel it. They went along with the plan (even Melkor) and Middle-Earth was perfect with elves, humans and pixies. They had little planned wars and then those Númenóreans decided that they were kings of everything and anything and enslaved everybody else. ( _Dayum,_ those bloodthirsty little Children)

They Turned _Away_ from Eru and declared that he didn’t really exist and neither did the Valar or Maiar. Also, they hunted the pixies to extinction (Her sentiments exactly) because they were too annoying to allow to live _(Exactly)_ and with one entire race of Incarnates gone _again_ Eru was thrown off and really upset.

But _nobody Turns Away from Eru,_ so instead of thinking, he immediately rewound that shit.

(Ratha laughed and laughed and laughed before she disappeared.)

xXXx

In the beginning Eru was extremely tired and upset and depressed and still…lonely. So he only Sang Ratha and Talked to her. He was really upset, he needed a shoulder to cry on. Like, a tangible one Ratha.

(Okay, okay)

(Tom whistled somewhere, shrugged his tangible shoulders and continued floating in thin air.)

Ratha gave Eru a hug because he’s kind of like her Mom and Dad combined together and he meant well, he really did, but it was kind of out of his hands if he really wanted this Plan to work.

(He had to _let it_ out of his hands.)

So they sat down and Ratha kept reminding him of Free Will and he sulked a lot but they (he) rewrote the Plan and Song and he gave her some Music so now she can have badass theme songs wherever she goes without the instruments.

(Whistles He’s a Pirate)

He still made her in charge of all the air because it was basically her _identity,_ but he promised to give her Mt Dooooom from the start and let the smoked Maiar be. (I mean soot Maiar, I mean Santa Claus Elves. Wait, what?)

Anyway. He Thanked her really nicely and then rewound everything because it wouldn’t do to have Ratha of all Maiar as The First Ainur.

xXXx

In the beginning Eru Sang all his Ainur into existence and then he went into the First Song and when Melkor jumped in with his irritating Discord he BLASTED HIM WITH HEAVY METAL. (Literally and figuratively)

Ratha howled and fistbumped Eru. She was still mad over all that Twisting.


	5. Chapter 5

Ratha stumbled over Mt. Dooooom as she raced across Arda. She was The First Wind damnit, and she would not be beaten by this puffed up fool of a lightning bolt.

(Nevermind that light beats all, this was Middle-Earth, if she had to chain him down with insulators she would!)

In any case, things were going swimmingly, she had reclaimed her title as creator of Lewdness and Eru had given her the only functional volcano on Arda and epic background music. In turn she graciously allowed all that grass in her valley and helped ferry seeds around.

(Okay, so she spread them out further than was Planned but they’d already talked about flexibility so it was fine.)

In any case, Olorin was happily marvelling at the elves reproducing again and Orome was happily planting his trees and fussing over their straightness, Curumo was building his Jango tower and Aiwendil was just tripping all over the place. And the pixies didn’t make it, thank Melkor. But Eru had weaselled in Skinwalkers. Who were actually pretty damned fun.

Ratha decided she was going to Watch over Skinwalkers. Because they were cool and not pathetic herbivores.

(GO AWAY OROME YOU ALREADY HAVE DEER AND WALKING TREES)

Unfortunately most of them liked forests, so she had to co-share with Orome a bit. (Boooo) But she decided to invite bees and suddenly there were Bear Skinwalkers in her valley so that was fine. At least there was one species she didn’t have to share.

(Even if most of the Maiar didn’t really distinguish between species. Races were the main differentiation.)

And then Melkor took an interest in her Skinwalkers because they were practically the only predators on Arda at the moment and she got really, really defensive.

(Melkor was fun and indulgent and stuff but honestly, he liked Twisting a little too much)

Whenever he tried to lure one of them, she’d smack him away. (He gave her a startled look the first time, like nobody had tried smacking him before.) He was beginning to experiment with dark stuff again, and he _still_ kept going into the Void to look for the Flame.

(She has no clue why he keeps believing that it’s in the Void. Like, oblivious much?)

In any case, one day he decided to steal away a bear which _fuck no you did not just go there Melkor,_ and she got so worked up she turned into a tornado all on her own and BOOM the First War started.

(Somewhere up there Eru smacked his intangible face. Just because they’d agreed on flexibility didn’t mean SHE HAD TO START THE FIRST WAR BY HERSELF IDIOT. Also, Namo had to apologize to everybody else because Melkor wasn’t around to take responsibility.)

Melkor was kind of taken off guard, because he had been amassing his own army and stuff but he hadn’t Turned all the fire Maiar yet so he wasn’t ready and this was _Ratha_ she was practically his most faithful subordinate.

(Face it Melkor, she’s your best friend)

Mairon was still kind of twiddling his thumbs on the fence but funnily enough, once Ratha had picked a side, he promptly followed the opposite’s.

(Eru had to sort of take a moment to appreciate the amount of ire Ratha could incite in other people. Like, ‘go to the darkside because you’re light’ kind of ire. And this was _Mairon._ He’d _made_ him so that he’d be nigh incorruptible.)

Anyway, the babies (humans) hadn’t awakened yet, so Eru allowed the Valar and Maiar to rage across Arda devastating the entire land until the Lamps broke and spilled and turned the shape of the land all wonky.

(His fingers twitched, itching to just _clean it all up,_ but no, he’d already promised not to rewind unless every Child died)

As Darkness with a capital ‘D’ descended, Melkor took the chance to Twist all the Fire Maiar and Ratha switched sides because he returned her bear and then suddenly all the elves were in his thrall which made Manwe, Melkor’s little brother, UBER PISSED OFF.

(He ALWAYS TAKES MY STUFF. AL. WAYS. Actually they belong to Orome but he was so busy with his trees Manwe basically Watched over them in his place.

Okay, so Manwe has always been kind of sore over Ratha serving Melkor even though HE was Lord of the BREATH OF ARDA. YOU’RE THE FIRST WIND. BREATHS. WINDS. THEY’RE _SUPPOSED_ TO GO TOGETHER!)

So they started fighting and it was the War For the Sake of the Elves. (Because elves are oh-so important)

The Battle of the Powers happened. The Siege of Utumno happened. Orcs happened. (Everyone finally agreed that the reason Melkor was so against Eru was because his sense of aesthetics were seriously fucked up.) The elves were completely oblivious to the fighting they were causing. Melkor lost because the Valar all ganged up against him.

Anyway, Yavanna was called in and she made like a particularly irate parent and SENT EVERYONE TO BED. Like seriously, she made all the Children GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP while the adults (for a given value of ‘adult’) sorted things through.

Melkor was bummed because all his Twisted Children (sans Ratha…actually sorry, she’s not a Child, more like an annoying little sister) were asleep and all his orcs were destroyed so he couldn’t stir more shit up and the Valar _all ganged up against him_. Like, they honest to Eru surrounded him and started picking on him loudly and shrilly and Manwe was acting all high-and-mighty because he had been named Elder King and stuff. _He_ was the eldest, for Eru’s sake!

(Somewhere far, far away, Tom Bombadil snorted)

Except some Times later Yavanna discovered her husband wasn’t backing up her Fishwife Scoldings and got rather frantic.

(No, this was not the tale of the First Adultery. Though one has to wonder why Aule decided he’d rather have Children without his wife.)

In any case, the dwarves were discovered (again) and everyone went from ragging on Melkor to ragging on Aule until he went all FINE I’LL KILL THEM RIGHT _NOW_ and started waving his hammer and Eru decided that okay, _fine,_ so he didn’t actually mind adopting the short, rocks-for-brains, likes-rocks-more-than-grass race.

Though he still put them under mountains far, far away from each other.

(Ratha immediately volunteered Mt. Dooooom for Durin. She was turned down. Eru actually _liked_ Durin. Somewhat. It was all a matter of relativity, okay? He put him in isolation so that Ratha couldn’t mess things up. _Again._ )

Anyway, after this discovery Yavanna got really offended and decided to make Trees with Orome instead of Lamps again. So Telperion and Laurelin were created and this time they SHONE ALL THE TIME OH MY ERU OVERKILL MUCH?

(Each for 7 hours in a 12 hour day. Because obviously after the Sleep nobody was allowed to get so much as 40 winks anymore.)

To make things worse, Varda went and made stars because she felt things weren’t already bright enough.

(Why Varda, why)

But they hadn’t forgotten Melkor, or at least, _Tulkas_ hadn’t forgotten him (incredibly surprising, because Tulkas was the Valar version of a meathead) and so he was chained up (with a Named chain called Againor) and stuffed somewhere in Valinor. Nobody knew where and Manwe wasn’t about to tell Ratha.

(Oh _c’mon_ Manwe…

No, Ratha.

Pretty, pretty please?

You chose your path when you chose Melkor over me!

Gee, jealous much? You’re married, y’know?

…still not telling you.

Boo!)

In any case during this period where Melkor was locked up, Arda was incredibly boring. All the Children were asleep, Varda was MAKING MORE STARS (why, Varda, _why)_ and everyone was just milling around preparing for the Awakening of the Elves. (Because obviously all the other Children didn’t matter.)

It was like preparing for a second baby shower, and Olorin was the worst of them all. There was decorating and singing and humming and Ratha just wanted everyone to get things over with so that her Skinwalkers could wake up.

She made it through this Trying Time by blasting epic music everywhere she went to drown out everyone.

Oh, and she found Mairon holed up in the Shadows teaching the balrogs how to be fire _and_ brimstone.

xXXx

The Awakening of the Elves. (And other unmentioned Children, thanks a lot)

There was a lot of cooing. Olorin was kind of overjoyed. Orome was smug because he had gotten one over Manwe by being the one to wake them up. (Because they were _his_ Children, no matter what everyone said. Even if he was still busy with his trees and Manwe still Watched them for him.)

Valinor became the elves’ tourist attraction where they’d come over and ooohed and ahhhed over the Trees before going back because they couldn’t sleep.

(Some of them didn’t bother going back. They got so enamoured with the bloody Trees that they started sleeping with their eyes open and getting weird dreams of the future. Honestly, _elves._ Olorin was delighted and followed suit.)

During this period, Ratha ignored everyone to play house with _her_ Children and poke at Mairon, who kept insisting he was _Sauron it’s called a disguise Ratha_ and was incredibly put out that they were on the same side.

(He actually tried to Turn Back, but after seeing Aule offer to SMASH HIS CHILDREN IN APOLOGY he decided against it. Because he couldn’t be destroyed that easily, but Aule was a scary, scary Valar. Who held grudges. His overprotective wife even moreso.

In any case, he was stuck with Ratha as a…non-hostile irritant. Who wouldn’t leave him alone and kept playing with the balrogs.

Worst. Period. _Ever._ )

Anyway, Ratha decided to alter the landscape within her purview a little more, and so she made the Carrock, because it looked like a car had crashed into a rock, and more uneven land by randomly breaking it up and raising and sinking pieces.

(The Skinwalkers were seriously cool. They were completely chill as the landscape reformed around them. Some even started living on the elevated grounds _while they were moving_.)

So the Years went on. Really brightly. Ratha was beginning to get kind of irritated at the lack of sleep she got. (Not that she needed it, but she’d always been kind of partial to a nice quiet nap)

(Eru smirked as he observed his Creation. And gave Yavanna a cookie.)


	6. Chapter 6

Nobody (except Tom Bombadil) knows that In the Beginning, when Eru was all alone (…maybe), there were Things that already existed. Even Eru doesn’t know when they began, just that they had been there since He could remember, which implied a lot of things his ego didn’t want to think about. Obviously, it meant that they were somehow as encompassing and as boundless as Himself. (Or even more so.)

Love, and thus its counterpart, Hatred.

Eru Loved, everybody knew. He Loved the way a father loves his children. The way a ruler loves his subjects. The way a Creator loves his creations. But just as no single sentence could describe his Love, so too, could no single mind fathom it. Which was why only Eru Himself could Love as thus, and such a Love could only come from Him.

But was he, in turn, able to fathom the other, multifaceted parts of love? Could he understand romantic love or love between friends? The unequal types of love conveyed singularly from one heart to another?

Ratha didn’t think so. Also, she thinks (knows) that Love and Hatred are so much older than Eru, they are even more boundless and encompassing than Him. Such that even the mind of the Creator cannot fathom their depths and lengths.

Ratha cannot be bothered with Hatred.

That’s why she fell in love with Love.

xXXx

When Eru first created the Children…he’d had neat little plans in neat little parts with neat little functions. He’d gathered all that spilled matter and somehow turned it orderly into shapes that he felt were suitable and good. And yet…somehow…perhaps because they were Children and not Himself, the gathered stuff mostly came lose and mixed in with everything else and the spaces between what was Good and Bad were filled with it until Good and Bad were two thin pillars between a great ravine of grey.

That was…when Gandalf the Grey first came to being.

Olorin was wise, he was The Wise. He was practically the First Proper Maiar to be created and universally accepted to be everyone else’s big brother (yes, even Ratha’s). He did not flaunt his position, and instead used his own knowledge and smarts to help everyone. (Mostly elves, but frankly, even Ratha had to admit the Early Elves needed lots of help.)

So he was probably the only one not a little dumbstruck when the first cross-race couple…happened.

(The only Proper Maiar. Ratha was hardly surprised, she used to attend Pride Parades.)

Mairon (SAURON) got something like an aneurism, as much as a Twisted-Maiar could get an aneurism. He’d wanted to go smash them up a little like his (previous) Master Aule, but he was stuck hiding in the Shadowlands and Ratha had been especially fierce about leaving them alone.

Of course, that was mainly because one half of the couple was of her beloved Skinwalker race.

The Skinwalker in question was a female bear. She’d run into a male elf in the shared forest and there had been mutual curiosity and then further meetings and long conversations and…

(Well, you know what happened.)

And now there was an entire race _(elves)_ pondering whether they should be baying for a blood price or begging for forgiveness or flaying the culprits, because a bear-elf-boy had been Beorn. _Cough,_ I mean born.

Oh, the other race?

The thing is, Skinwalkers were very familiar with their particular Watcher. They worshipped her like a goddess, treated her as a sacred guardian, and drank lots of liquor when she visited. Which she was. The second part I mean.

She took her duties seriously, but mortals were not meant to know of the ways of immortals, and thus they _could not_ know of how seriously she protected them, nor how…violently. In fact, they mainly knew her because she regularly joined in revels and dances and could outdrink entire tribes. (She introduced the First alcoholic drinks…so sue her, she’s more than legal. She’s _older_ than legality!)

But that’s not the point. The point was that they knew her in a way the Elves did not quite know their respective Watchers. She was not a mysterious figure to them. She’d talked and laughed and taught them many of their ways. And their ways included Love which was boundless, which was more encompassing than Eru, that did not condemn people for what they were, and did not despise the circumstances they were born in.

They knew that a bear-elf-boy or bear-elf-girl or whatever-hypen-whatever child was fine and Good and to be cherished like all other children. Because Ratha said so, and whatever she said, as long as Eru wasn’t sending a bolt of lightning crashing down on her, must be so.

But the elves didn’t know.

The point is not to show how discriminative the elves could be, neither is it to look down upon how haughty an entire race can be, nor is it to maybe point out that the other Watchers should spend more time with their Watched races. It is not to shame anyone.

(Cough…maybe a little)

It is simply a shame.

xXXx

When the Valar are startled, it may not be for as long as when Eru was startled (which did not happen in this Time), but it is still a good long time—enough for several generations of elves and skinwalkers.

The story of the first cross-race couple…can only live on in Ratha’s memory. And, perhaps, Beorn’s.

Skinwalkers are a kind removed from their fellow sentients because despite their familiar shape, they are a people more primal, more raw than the Ents of Orome’s forest. And elves, being who they are, can sense that.

Elves cherish connection with Nature, but one must know that there will always be different schools of thought. One side professes deep academic love and appreciation akin to artistry—a delicate balancing of the people and nature side-by-side. The other simply plunges deep into the instinctive, the emotional, and tries to reach for the primordial force that they can only brush.

Ratha, being who she is, can only pity the second kind.

He was rare, that tall, handsome elf. He had a deep belief in nature, in the beauty of it, and the strength of it. He loved its savage wildernesses, its deep, raging depths. His stormy eyes—the colour of the sea—would peer into the Forest, as if trying to hold and consume all its secrets.

Oh, he was a wild one. If there were monkeys, he’d be the first. Swinging from tree to tree, nary a crisp from his naked feet. Ratha rather thought she could like him, for an elf.

She was there when they met. Maybe one day she will recount the story to their son.

But that was then, this was now.

The couple are no more.

(Maybe one day Eru will realize that there are some things you cannot defeat. And one of them is Hatred. Because no matter how much you profess to Love, there will always be Hatred in the corner of your heart.

Maybe one day Eru will realize that there is a reason Melkor was the way he is.

Maybe one day Eru will realize that Melkor is his Hatred unmasked and unmuffled.

…Maybe one day Eru will acknowledge it.)

xXXx

Years pass, a measure of time Ratha does not bother to count, and Beorn still lives. She likes to visit him in his little cottage, even more removed from civilisation than other skinwalkers. He’s an odd one, her bear-elf-boy. Even Manwe professes to be confused as to how long he will live.

He favours his mother, but has his father’s eyes. The tips of his ears are round. He grows beards. He can shift into a bear so large he could have been Chief of a tribe. Or a King. She wouldn’t mind making him a King.

But instead, he lives quietly in his cottage, welcoming the few visitors at his door.

Ratha is like his concerned aunt—she comes every week. They chat and she teaches him a new thing off the top of her head each time, and he grows taller and more well-spoken, though still quite the surly adolescent.

Aiwendil, now Radagast the Brown, often ‘visits’ him on his haunts to find his many scattered abodes. Ratha thinks he’s the original rabbit, with how many burrows he has. She made a pair of giant rabbits and gifted them to him when she thought that, because rabbits did not yet exist.

(Eru wondered how she came up with such strange shapes. And hopping animals. His later attempts at recreation resulted in grasshoppers. Which. How?!)

Gandalf (You can still call me Olorin, Ratha—Gandaaaaaaaalf—…sigh. Yes, Ratha?) ended up stumbling upon Beorn whilst chasing Aiwendil for a ride on his new sleigh. He stayed for tea. And biscuits. And roast beef.

(Yes, roast beef. Beorn was a growing boy who did not yet keep ‘children’ in his house like it was a barn.)

So in the end, the morale of the story was…

Something.

When the ‘first’ cross-race couple of elf and human occurred, Ratha decided to be forgiving and not destroy them.


	7. Chapter 7

Time…kind of trickles off Ratha. It doesn’t touch her, not really. She’s The First Wind, The First Whisper, and even though nobody mentions it, she’s the Breath of Life. Of _course_ Manwe is her Lord. Technically that means she serves him on top of Namo and Melkor, but when she made Namo laugh, Manwe had relented.

When Melkor had claimed her he’d kind of thrown a fit, but they don’t talk about that.

Anyway, time passes her by, just like a sad song, and nobody mentions it. Nobody mentions how Ratha—lively, exuberant Ratha—has gone quiet.

The wind doesn’t whistle anymore.

She still tends to her duties, because Arda cannot survive without her, but there’s nary a sound from her now. She’s all silent breezes and puffs now. An elf fan of hers developed wind chimes to track her.

She’s just…bored.

If she were still human, with a human’s spirit, she’d be at the end of her rope of endurance. She’d have been worn down by time.

But she’s not. Time…can’t touch her at all. Not her physical form, nor her emotions. Her spirit is its own flow, and it never ends, never tires, never ceases. She’s not tired. She’s not weary. She’s just.

Bored.

There’s nothing new happening, well there were some things but they weren’t _interesting_ in the way Beorn had been, elvish as they were.

She still visits him, but she’s conscious enough that she can tell that it’s not weekly anymore. It takes conscious effort to keep track of time. Of course, it take conscious effort to keep track of something that doesn’t really touch you.

He hangs chimes on all his eaves now, so that he will know when she passes by. It comforts him to hear her, even when he can hardly remember the true sound of rushing wind anymore. His days are quieter than they have ever been, and somewhere deep inside he regrets ever wishing for quiet days.

But what are the sorrows of Children to the whims of the likes of her?

Ratha drifts pass a familiar house covered in chimes and continues on, listening to the gentle knocks of hollowed wood. She wonders how Melkor is doing.

xXXx

Gandalf, for he is truly settled into his second name now, finds her sitting idly on a hill one day, scattering seeds absentmindedly. They’re even all perfectly within their regions—something that has not happened since Eru had delegated her the job. He takes out an old pipe and rubs it clean against his filthy grey robe, a far cry from the brilliant, elfin, heroic figure he had been as Olorin. He stuffs weed into it and lights it up with matches.

She watches him fiddle with all these mortal instruments, wondering when he’d become so fully integrated into this world.

Three puffs—perfectly ordinary, non-smoke Maiar-inducing puffs—later and he sighs contentedly, sitting side-by-side with an old friend. An elf has just died a perfectly heroic death, an elf has just created a wondrous gem. He remembers the names when he sees them, but as Ratha once said: Out of sight, out of mind.

Curumo, now Saruman the White, has created his tower of greatness and awe. It stands tall, defiantly against the backdrop of flat plains. Even the Forests beside it look like dwarrow around Men.

Ah…Men. Gandalf puffs some more as he ponders Eru’s plans for this last Children. Secondborn? Hoho, more like Lastborn. So many different Children have come before them, and yet, it is to Men that Eru has decreed Arda be given to.

Gandalf puffs some more, the soft sound the only thing to be heard on this great plain. Ratha is silent as she flows about, not even swishing the blades of grass at their feet.

She misses Melkor.

Gandalf realized a long time ago. Loneliness, sadness, regret, Ratha has been through it all. She acts so immature few realize how wise she truly is. While nobody can fathom why she is able to support the Dark Lord without truly Turning, or _why,_ nobody can refute that her loyalty is real and deep. Melkor, when he had been just Melkor, had had a charisma that shined brilliantly. Now few can remember those days when he had laughed and played and basked under the blessing of Eru.

Even Gandalf’s memory is growing dim. Like a real old man, he realizes, his Vision grows blurred and his Thoughts slow. He can no longer peer into the future the way he used to, and he can no longer fly to the corners of Middle Earth like he used to. All the Wizards have found this to be true.

Except Ratha, but the Breath of Arda cannot be compared. Namo doesn’t restrict her the way the other Valar do their followers. The lord of Mandos says that wind cannot be restricted, but everybody knows it is because he favours she who is the wind.

He puffs some more and continues to think, but as evening comes and the newly made Sun and Moon rotate positions, he finds that Ratha has already drifted from the little hill they sat on. He sighs then, because no one can capture the wind.

Just as no one can help it.

xXXx

Ratha wanders around as she is wont to do. She has scoured the corners of newly-fixed Arda and found that the shape of the land is much changed. Changed, but not so different from the places they were shaped after. She wonders a little about who pieced them back, but doesn’t really find enough interest to investigate.

She drifts on and on…and entire centuries pass.

She finds herself spiralling gently into a mountain and then…blinks.

The mountain’s insides are…kinda scooped out.

The light in her eyes shines and she peers around this new and interesting place. She’s forgotten all about Durin and his fellow dwarrow (hah rhyme) after a Time and a half, but now she remembers that, oh yeah, they actually live _in the mountain._

She flutters around a pair of bellows, wanders through the burning forges, and finds…the dwarf king. Who is staring at her like he’d very much like to crack her head in with his mallet thing.

She stifles a smile as he glances left and right incredulously, because he’s the only one who can see her—only the noble bloodline of Kings can see her these days. She coughs and waves and floats about, grinning as his eyes go wide and fearful.

(The other dwarrow are staring at him. Probably wondering if he’s gone bonkers from the heat.)

At last, she materializes a physical body, and the effect is not unlike an anthill being upended. The dwarrow grab whatever’s within reach (which are mostly hammers) and crowd around their king protectively. She reaches over and helpfully blows out a burning sleeve.

“Intruder!” someone cries in Khuzdul, waving his hands frantically as he spoke. The desperate tone as well as the spastic gesticulation belie his fear.

Exactly like termites, dwarrow start crawling out of the wood (cough stone cough) work.

Ratha looks around at the surrounding people and laughs.

Then she finds an anvil to sit down.

xXXx

“Who are you?” The dwarf king asks in Westron, having finally emerged from the circle of guards. (There was a lot of swearing and waving of his mallet)

Just to fuck with him, Ratha answers in perfect Khuzdul, hands moving seamlessly with her lips, “Your worst nightmare.”

Again, there’s the anthill impression, and the king has to out yell several hundred interrogations and calls for execution at once. It’s impressive, if not exactly great for Ratha’s hearing.

(Mountains echo)

“How do you know Khuzdul!” He asks (demands) furiously, still in Westron. He makes several rather rude gestures in iglishmek to his execution-demanding posse.

“I was _there_ when Mahal made it, you idiots,” she decides to skip the mystery drama this time, finding herself surprisingly impatient to interact more with the dwarves.

There’s sputtering and then…oh great, ‘signs’ against evil. Even the king is beginning to look worried—as in he’s debating the odds of smashing her with his weapon. “What’s your name?” Ratha asks (obviously in Khuzdul), because she’s getting pretty interested in all this.

“Why are you here?” he shakes a fist at her instead of replying.

“Where’s Durin?” she decides to drop a name that will stop his fist-shaking. It does. His jaw drops. Why does Durin invoke more reaction than Mahal? Weird.

There’s choking and he finally manages a strangled, “You knew Durin?” And even though it’s without an honorific, there’s a definite amount of awe there.

She wonders what she should tell him. I babysat him once? I used to give him flatulence? I blew his beard in his face until he started that ridiculous habit of stuffing it into his pants instead of trimming it into something less fluttery?

“…Duh,” she ends up saying, “He was an annoying little shit when he was young.”

There’s a _lot_ more choking and sputtering, but in the end the hammers have fallen to the side and there are dwarves getting closer, the way grandchildren do for storytime.

(Dwarrow)

“Okay, can someone finally answer my questions? I’m getting impatient.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

The name of the dwarf king is ‘Tul’, though it’s not really his _name._ It’s the sound that was meant to communicate the essence of his soul. Ratha feels the reverberations of the word through the air, through _her,_ and sighs because it is a far cry from who he truly is. She doesn’t actually _need_ to be told what his name is, can see it written into his form—it shines like the metal Mithril was cast from, the metal Aule had striven to emulate when he’d created dwarrow.

(He got pretty close, but there was Valar-made and there was _Eru-made)_

She smiles because the name she sees is a good one—names that shine do not necessarily have to be good—and she tells him that. He visibly trembles, because dwarrow—they were made to hide their selves. Because Aule had been so afraid of being found out. They are simultaneously the most honest, and stealthiest race Ratha has Seen, and they are pretty funny when these traits clash.

She won’t say his Name out loud, even though it may do him some good to Know himself entirely. He’s already lived out most of what he was supposed to anyway—the age of his form is in the prime of adulthood. By the time the Children reached such an age, they already set their feet firmly on their paths and dwarrow, most of all, did not deviate from them. Every path will carry the meaning of their souls well enough, and no matter how many times she’s watched them, the many iterations and different choices made, it has always fascinated her. It’s probably one of the few things that constantly change.

(Durin is both boring yet not. She’s watched him make choice after choice and most of them are so similar as to be completely dull, and yet sometimes she will see him turn back or swivel away completely and she just _has_ to Watch that life entirely, because this was Durin who Remembered but didn’t. Durin whom she used to play pranks on. Durin, who married and loved different souls and different Ones and she’d asked Aule once—why they were still Ones when obviously their souls were not the same.

Aule had taken two halves of a stone, put them together in front of her, and then separated them again. He grinded one into a smooth shape, and then tried to fit them back again. They didn’t.

He never said a Word, but she wondered what it meant for the one who changed and the one who didn’t change. If there would be other souls who would be grinded in the exact opposite way to fit them and those who didn’t change enough to fit others.

Eru had tweeted at her when she asked Him. There were still _some_ secrets he would Keep.)

 xXXx

Excerpt from the personal journal of his esteemed Majesty, Túl, son of Thárman, son of Nis, King under the Northern Mountain Range:

_The Sky Queen visited today._

_I did not know she was the one whom Durin spoke of when she first came._

_I was in the forges when I saw her, and I mistook her for a female sorceress when I first laid eyes upon her. She had mithril hair and mithril eyes, which are colours closer to those of elves than Man—although no elf could lay claim to the hue that is **Mithril—** but her ears were neither pointed, nor her skin alabaster white. Her skin was smooth like golden pearls and the dress she wore was the colour of moonstones with nary a seam._

_It seemed as if I, alone, could see her at first. The curious, fae-haired woman who meandered through the busy crowd and tried to peer at every smith’s work. It was, of course, an outrageous thing to do for a child of Man, which was why I intended to stop her. Only the fact that others seemed not to notice her stayed my hand._

_As it was, she saw me looking at her and suddenly, her form was visible to others. I was terrified that she may have been a wraith of darkness, come to plague my people. I took up my hammer, although I knew not if it could harm her._

_I questioned her first, intending to buy time, and I thank the Maker that I had not attack her. She spoke of Aule, and then of Durin in the sacred language of Khuzdul, though her tone on the latter was indulgent, like that of my grandmother. She did not strike at us, and though I was unsure if she would enchant or bewilder us with spells, I could not afford discourtesy to one who held such power and knowledge._

_I knew not that she was the Sky Queen until later in the day, but I could see enough to suspect her power._

_I shall contact Tharkûn on the morrow. Durin said the Sky Queen is benevolent, if somewhat mischievous. But she has only ever visited him alone._

_I must find out if this omen bodes ill for my people._

xXXx

Excerpt from records retrieved from an old dwarven stronghold, preserved in the library of Imladris:

_On this day, the Sky Queen appeared to our King. She took the form of a Man, with hair as dark as obsidian, and eyes the colour of crimson opals. She wore not the raiment of earthly queens, but a seamless moonstone dress. There were no rings on her fingers, bracelets on her wrists, jewels in her ears, or necklace on her neck. There was no crown on her head, and yet all knew her a Queen._

_Though he was greatly frightened, our king did not cower from her. And this impressed her greatly._

_She said to him, “Be at ease child, for I bear you no ill will. I have watched you and seen that you are a kind and just King. Thus, I have come bearing gifts of knowledge, in hopes that we may be friends as I was with Durin.”_

_And the King did lay down his hammer, and approached her. And the Sky Queen did beckon to all who laid eyes upon her to kneel._

_When the King stood before her, she sat on thin air as if it were her throne—and indeed wind was her seat of power—and began to speak._

_And this was how we received the stories of our Maker and the Tales of Durin—that every dwarven child shall learn at their dam’s knee—that we shall not forget the blessings bestowed by the Valar. For stepchildren of Eru we may be, resented by the Firstborn and disdained by the Second, but Children of Eru we still are. The Maker and his wife, blessed Yavanna, watch over us, and so does the Sky Queen._

xXXx

Speaking to the dwarrow was like speaking to a horde of toddlers, I discovered. I have never quite met such unruly people before, even though most are well into their adulthood. Skinwalkers are wild, yes, but there are still hidden graces to them and they do not tease each other as viciously, nor do many of their jokes contain innuendo.

(Durin had not been like that—perhaps in retaliation of my mischief. Or perhaps it was the burden of Kingship laid on his brow each time he was reborn. The first days of the dwarves had not been easy on any of them.)

There was much clamour about my stories and a scramble for writing material. Parchment was kept clear of the forges, which was why there was a lot of scribbling with charcoal on leather pieces. Many a stomach growled while I spoke, but they insisted on listening on.

The dwarf king though—Tul—he was the most pitiable of the bunch. He’d seated himself right in front of me, which was also at the front of all the dwarrow, and had to conduct himself in as exemplary a manner as befitted a leader of his race. Which looked really uncomfortable.

In any case, I indulged my moment of nostalgia and happily shared all the blackmail I had accumulated on Durin between his lives. In dwarven history, there had only been records of two of them, but obviously Durin had vacation lives too. There were complicated looks when I told them about the third and fourth incarnations, where Durin had decided to call himself Hvila and Styðja respectively.

(Obviously he had all the creativity of a rock, naming himself Rest and Rest. Like father like son.

Aule had all the creativity of a boulder, calling his first creation ‘sleepy’ because he’d been sleepy after making him. He did protest calling the other fathers of dwarves Doc, Grumpy, Happy, Bashful, Sneezy, and Dopey but… I had Yavanna on my side.

Also, Hvila was _female._ Because Aule lost a bet. To yours truly.

…He’d been _mortified,_ the poor dear. I told him to make sure to learn as much as possible about females in this life, especially a little thing called _respect,_ or he’d be female for the next official life.)

Of course, when I announced break time for luncheon, feeling a mite peckish for dwarven fare in my manifested form, there was yet another scramble for food. I’m not entirely sure how much time had passed, but one or two looked close to swooning, while the rest not much better.

xXXx

Excerpt from the personal journal of his esteemed Majesty, Túl, son of Thárman, son of Nis, King under the Northern Mountain Range:

_The Sky Queen told many stories through the past few days. Most of them of Durin and I shall ensure they are kept secret, not least because if Durin returned to our people and found all his humiliations laid bare the eldest Father of the Dwarves may commit genocide on his own people._

_It is fortunate that I had just eaten before meeting Her, because we were not allowed to rest between the days of storytelling. The scribes or similarly inclined may be able to withstand the cold stones under their backsides, but I cannot. I have a new appreciation for Bjalla now. Am also commissioning new cushions for the throne. Once is enough._

_It was very interesting to listen to stories from the mouth of one who experienced them herself, but hopefully when Tharkûn comes he can convince her to be more mindful of the discomforts of mortal dwarrow._

_Also, my blacksmithing project is now completely and utterly ruined. The hauberk I had put to bake has been whittled to a tiny slab of far too pure iron. I am of a mind to just hand it off to the jewellers to see what they can make of it and start anew. At least I am no tanner, for Skegg’s masterwork fell into his neighbour’s quenching trough and is no better than a rag._

_Thankfully there were no fire hazards, everyone being extremely careful to put them away before leaping for their weapons. Professionals ought to exhibit due diligence._

 


	9. Chapter 9

Tul was a king of the dwarrow of the line of Durin. Which made him a longbeard, and thus one of the more reasonable sort. Of dwarrow.

Just like every dwarrow, he was suffused with pride. As a King moreso, he was...proud. But just like every dwarrow, he was also struck with the unfortunate inferiority complex inherent to a race that had not actually been created by the great Maker.

(Not-so coincidentally this was also why dwarrow tended to proffess greater appreciation for Mahal, nevermind he'd tried to dash them to pieces when he was first found out. There is very little mention of Eru in their history, though he had permitted their existence and technically saved all their hides from their dear creator. The attitude of dwarrow when faced with other Valar/Maiar was also deliberately less respectful than towards their so-called Maker.

Ratha had made sure to constantly remind Aule of that. He was not that big a blockhead not to feel guilty.)

Inferiority complexes in dwarrow are a twisty thing. Inferiority complex as a whole are twisted things. They tend to cover up with bluster, and in worse cases will try to put those around them down in order to reassure themselves of their worth. In these cases, they will also try to take on more and more responsibilities so as to showcase their ability.

If it turns out they do indeed, have some ability to bear the responsibilities, the complex will be somewhat appeased and these dwarrows will also have some measure of true generosity (coupled with self-satisfaction). If not, they will become depressed. Full of self-doubt and anxiety, they may lash out at the world...or become motivated to pursue greater heights. This has lead to both the greatest and worst of dwarrow.

It is also this inherent complex that has lead to an especially heightened sense for arrogance. Show a single ounce of it towards a dwarf and he will return it fourfold and maybe moon you with his hairy arse too. It was a point of contention between Aule and Orome. Obviously Aule would moon Orome or even Eru if they had not seen each other naked as babes when they were Made.

Anyway, to say the ability to bear such a complex is genetic is rather unfair...but there is truth in it. Durin's bloodline is one that has managed to keep it in check the best.

(The Ironfists have their own secrets...one which Ratha has decided not to divulge. Aule had not realized what he had done to Grumpy during his making and _why_ Ratha had chosen him to be named so. It wasn't as if it was that different from his True Self after all, but she had been trying to help.

The Ironfists are a doomed line. That's all she will say.)

Thus when Tul was faced with Ratha's indulging patience instead of lofty disregard...he softened his attitude. Be very clear, if not for this single point--as well as the part where Ratha can destroy an entire race with a blink--Tul would never have given even a sliver of respect.

As it was, he sat with her at the high table during dinner and plied her with foodstuffs as if she was his dearly departed mother. Her appetite and appreciation for simple dwarrow food was observed and he even gave her strips of bacon from his own plate.

In any case, it was the first time someone of another race (for a given value of race) was seated beside the king at the high table but nobody grumbled. No, really, nobody grumbled.

(Coughcough.)

So there. Ratha had a rather satisfying lunch. Sure, she's Wind and can basically taste anything she wants to, but there's something satisfying about crunching meaty chunks between your teeth and the warm glow of ale down your throat.

And then it was sleeping time and...well...Tul was in a bit of a dilemma.

xXXx

"I'm fine with not having a room, dear," Ratha chimed as she picked her teeth with a splinter of wood. (It wasn't really needed, but she liked doing it. So there.) "I don't need to sleep and there's no point giving me a room I don't need."

Tul drew himself up to his full height (reaching her chest), "You are dwarf-friend and the Sky Queen no less. I will not have you disrespected when you have come to us in amity."

She snorted at the word, "Honestly, you Children are adorable. You realize that an old lady like me doesn't really care if I'm disrespected or not, right? I have watched you all since the beginning of Creation and Age after Age there's always someone who thinks that the gifts they have been given come from the Void or something."

The king deflated slightly, suddenly questioning his skill in smithing.

"Oh don't be so down," Ratha patted him on the head, "We may have given you the potential but if you never use it nothing will come out of it. The things that come from your hard work are purely yours, for how can we claim credit for things we did not make? We _could have_ , yes, but we _didn't,_ and therein lies all the difference. Do not look down on the power of choice."

Tul huffed, but felt better. He played with his Durin braid as he had not done in a century, "You truly do not wish for a room to stay? The people will talk. And--and I wish for your comfort while you stay here."

"You are just _adorable,"_ Ratha cooed, even as she swatted his hand away just as his mother had done. "Give me one if you want to, but I won't be staying in it. I'm going to wander the range for a bit but I'll be back in the morning. It's been some time since I've been under a mountain and I want to see what changes you have wrought. And there should be plenty of night sentries on duty to keep me company."

Tul scowled, making her coo even louder. He stuffed his hands in his breeches, "If you will not use the room, there is no point giving you one. Since you will be seeking other company, I will bid you a good night and see you on the morrow for breakfast." He stomped away to bed.

Ratha burst out laughing, prompting him to stomp faster and louder.

The guards in the room wondered who they were supposed to follow.

xXXx

"Now, missus," Figli son of Brimli son of Gorfi gestured at the wall of stone in front of them. It glittered at intermittent points, reflecting the light of the oil lamp he was raising. "See these little gems? This here's a gold vein, you can see the colour rising from the rock. While this one," he tapped on a rock with specks of green, "is an emerald. The two've come together right here," he tapped another spot, "And we gotta sort them out."

He nodded towards another dwarf who was hunched over a table full of rocks. Usually we cart the stuff up for the jewellers and goldsmiths to make sense of, but we don't do much mining in these late hours, so those of us as got some eye for finer detail'd have a go." He reached into his sooty shirt and took out a carefully wrapped bundle of cloth which he gently opened to reveal three polished gems of white stone.

"I found these little beauties in here," he whispered, eyes fond as if he were looking upon his own children, "These are all different stones, and people may say they're not as rare as other colours, but I've always been partial to it."

Ratha picked up the thumb-sized white star sapphire and admired the twelve rays on its surface. Figli had polished it to perfection and it was round and unmarred by a single chip.

She smiled and returned it, before picking up the moonstone. It too, was as large as her thumb, and though she knew a stone of such size could fetch a high price even in this Age, what was even more precious was the echo of devotion she could feel through it. Figli had buffed it with his own hands.

If regular stone could love, this one _adored_ him.

The last was a regular diamond. Except it wasn't _quite_ regular. Cabochon diamonds were rare after all, but this one was smooth and transparent like glass. There were no cuts, and so it did not glitter, there were no facets, and so it did not sparkle. It, honestly, looked like a glass bauble.

Ratha turned it over and over again and again and could feel the strength of diamond and how this small gem could endure the pressure of a mountain. She pondered over it and decided to give it its own glow.

But wind is wind, and it does not _glow._ Oh, Ratha could gather the particles of a fire or capture a ray from the sun, but it would not be _her_ power imbued. Besides, it wasn't white. She impressed upon the stone the faintest wisp of breath and told it to turn here and there, making faint illusions and patterns. A mirage in a tiny desert, it coiled and breathed.

When she returned it to Figli, his eyes went wide, for the stone gave out a faint gleam. It winked along the trails of the wisp, showing him strange dreamlike figures and landscapes. He pressed it to his ear when the Sky Queen told him to and could hear the faint whistle of wind through stone.

 _Oh,_ his face went slack with wonder as he heard hints of his True Name.

 _Strength,_ the stone and wisp murmured.

 _Devotion,_ it insisted next with a little hiss.

_Unusual beauty, listener, faithful...careless, clumsy, stubborn_

Figli listened and smiled and blushed. He looked at Ratha and understood the gift she had given him.

The diamond would tell him and any dwarf who would listen the truths of their Names. It would help reveal the one secret that every dwarf sought to uncover. It would affirm the reason for their existence. It was a gift of the highest order!

His hands trembled as he put it down. But Ratha wasn't done.

She took up the star sapphire again and blew over it until the star flashed mutely. Wind wasn't especially flashy to look at, the only visible signs were the effects on other things. Which was why wind had one of the greatest effects on things. The little star shimmered and thrummed with the force of a breeze.

Star Sapphires are still sapphires, and sapphires are stones of wisdom. This little one was no different and as she poured the force of summer breezes into it, it thrilled and allowed them to drag small furrows through it. The star in it became more and more defined and finally, it seemed as if it would pop out of the stone itself.

This one, she pressed to his hand gently. It was cool, less like stone and more like a living breathing thing. He held it breathlessly as she did the same with the moonstone until he could almost hear it speak.

Not _it,_ he realized soon later. _Her._

Ratha had given him _children._ A boy and. A _girl._

A star and a moon. He blinked tears away.

He completely forgot about the truth-speaking diamond and, with shaking hands, beheld the two jewels.

 _"Thank you,"_ he gasped out, falling to his knees. His head pressed against the earth, two tight fists in front of it. He thought that surely the Sky Queen must be able to read hearts, for how else could she have known that his dearest wish was to have a child? But with him, poor and uncouth low-born miner that he was, how could he hope to catch the eye of a dwarrowdam?

He sobbed as he kowtowed at her feet, "Thank you! Thank you!"

The nearby dwarrow raised a cry, gathering a crowd that promised to help raise the children, that they would want for nothing. Miner's children that they were, they would be children of them all. Figli was the best of them, they felt, slightly self-deprecatingly, and deserved every little bit of this fortune. He was cheerful despite his circumstance, and always had a helping hand for everyone.

Ratha chuckled, but picked up the forgotten diamond and waggled it.

xXXx

_There are secrets that the miners of Ered Mithrin keep. Indeed every miner keeps secrets only miners know, but this is one of their oldest. It is this: a small, uncut diamond that whispers to hearts._

_They are miners, the lowest, the poorest, and the kindest. They know the gift of generosity, for the little diamond tells them they are worth more than they think. That they are beloved children of Eru no matter their creation. They are not the ugly, mean creatures the wise elves disparage them to be, for even elves are Children and can thus be foolish. They are not worth less than Man because of their height, of their stocky frames, of whichever sets them apart from the shapes Eru favours._

_This secret is not simply one of Ered Mithrin, though it is kept at Ered Mithrin, in the hands of a line of dwarrow who have been miners for Ages. The line is blessed with more children than even the Royal line of Durin, and with girls as plentiful as boys. Miners from all the seven Fathers will visit Ered Mithrin at least once, to listen to the truth of the diamond, and listen to the whispers about their Name._


End file.
